


Under Lock and Key

by jury



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Aphrodisiacs, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Begging, Captivity, Codependency, Desperation, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Size Difference, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: Luc's chin came down heavy on Valla's shoulder, his mouth moving against Valla's ear, his lips brushing its curve. "Could you say no to a king, Valla?" His breath was wine-scented and he was leaning forward into Valla now, who struggled to brace himself. "Are you that much stronger than me?"Imprisoned by neighbouring King Khariton, Princes Luc and Valla find out just how far he will go to seek revenge.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 17
Kudos: 231
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Under Lock and Key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plastics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/gifts).



> As always, El's help was invaluable for this. No praise could possibly be high enough.
> 
> Plastics, your prompt and letter were both lovely! I hope you enjoy .

Valla's horse was as uncomfortable as his saddle, his posture wrong enough to make his legs and hips ache. He'd never been good with horses, and this one liked to prance back and forth. Luc's horse was steady, its gait smooth. Either Luc felt no discomfort, or he was a better horseman — well, Valla knew the second was true. 

The rock of the canyon was growing higher and higher with each step, a summer shower growing on the horizon. Valla wanted to turn tail and canter all the way home, but the threatening glower of his father lingered at the back of his mind. This was a duty, he told himself, gnawing on the edge of his thumbnail. This was part of preventing war.

If Luc was thinking about their circumstances, he didn't show it. They were far enough apart in years that he couldn't quite imagine what Luc was thinking just from his back. Valla nudged at his horse until its lope matched Luc's, drawing them side by side. 

"What do you think it will be like?" Valla said, and Luc turned, slowly, at the sound of his voice, like he was emerging from a deep thought. He moved with his horse, not against it, and he looked as if he had been born in the saddle. Part of that was the reason why Valla had never grown close to Luc, who spent more time in the stable than in the palace. But he wasn't completely relaxed; this close, Valla could see the corners of his mouth were pinched tight. 

"The city?" Luc said.

"Being hostages," Valla said, quietly enough that his voice didn't carry, hoping the note of apprehension didn't carry either. Strangers in a hostile land, he thought, and shivered despite the warm sun beating down on his back. The word carried a weight when he said it, a weight that it hadn't in his father's, nor anyone else's since. Father had told them, with a careful mix of gentleness and diplomacy, that they would be gone for a year or more, educated and trained among the children of Paraka. Valla's heart had begun to pound in his chest then, and had not ceased. 

"Don't fret," Luc said, but they were just words that fell flat between them. Despite the fact that Luc was trying to smile, it didn't reach his eyes, and his mouth was still turned down. One of their other brothers — Mason or Pascal — would have known what to say to soothe Valla’s heart, drawn him close or tousled his hair with a genuine smile, but not Luc. Luc was the oldest and he carried that weight on his shoulders, shoring up the rest of them. He was always preoccupied. They all looked the same, really, tow-headed with dark eyes, but Luc's hair was the only one that sparkled white and red in the sun, a gift from a queen far back in their lineage whose portrait gleamed in the light. His hair was soft and wanted to curl, and his eyes were always a mix of distant and kind, his skin brown from the summer sun.

Valla sighed as his horse sidestepped enough to draw them apart again, even within the bounds of their retinue. His horse ambled on, and he slumped in the saddle. They were close to the border, but each step was a step further away from home. When he imagined where they were on a map, Arquin was a small spoon out of the pudding of Paraka, large enough that tensions were always strained, but small enough that they weren't usually considered a threat. Taking hostages was new, at least to Valla. 

Valla watched Luc's back in the saddle, unsure of what to do or say. A year or more, in a place so far from home that it would take a week to send a letter there, and Mason and Pascal couldn't be trusted to write back in any timely manner. He sighed. A year of just Luc, cold, quiet Luc. Luc, who had always preferred to spend as much time away from Valla as possible. 

"Come on, Valla," Luc called, when he had lingered for a few moments too long, and Valla felt chided, digging his heels into his horse, which lunged forward. He wasn't a child. Perhaps Luc saw him that way. 

The landscape had changed slowly enough that he hadn't realised, replacing ice-wreathed pines and dark firs with low-hanging, wide-leafed plants, willows whose lazy leaves dragged on the flat, still lake, where grey stone and fat ducks lingered at the edges. The air was thick with mist, over the lake and down to the stone road where their horses’ hooves beat, and the grass and cattails were overgrown at the edges of the path. The colours of the sunset mixing on the low mountains behind the palace shattered the clouds with peach and purple. 

It was beautiful, and Valla hated it, but he swallowed it down. He wasn't a baby. He wasn't going to cry about this. 

Luc's back was tired, slouched into his saddle. Valla hadn't seen him with such poor posture before, but as if he could feel the eyes on his back, Luc straightened up, turning his head. Valla couldn't help himself, nudging himself equal with Luc. 

"We had a hostage once," Luc said, without prompting. "When you were very young."

"Did we?" Valla said, frowning. He remembered no one. 

"Just for a few months," Luc said. "But it was like a holiday for him, I think." He snuck a look at Valla, as if to see if he was saying the right thing. Valla smiled, though it felt stretched and strange on his face. He nudged his horse closer, imagining that, if he could, Luc would sling a comforting arm around his shoulder. "Paraka has its delights, even if they're different from home."

"I know," Valla said. "Horses."

Luc smiled, then, genuinely, even though it was brief. "If I'm lucky, they might send me back with one," he said. "They say Paraka horses are the fastest in the whole world." When he talked about horses, his whole face changed, lighting up with interest and attention. So there _was_ someone like that within Luc, someone Valla could reach out to. He smiled back, and bathed in the warmth of it for a moment. 

Whatever Valla might have said in response was lost as a distant horn blast split the sky from the top of the castle, loud and long. The leader of their retinue blew a return blast, sounding reedy and faint in the wake. Valla felt unworthy, straightening in his saddle and neatening his hair as best he could. He was sore from a week of riding, and unsettled to boot, his horse still refusing to obey consistently. He needed a night in his own bed, in his own room, placed high enough above the garden that he could smell the creeping winter jasmine at night. 

"They're coming down to meet us," Luc said, shading his eyes with his hand. There was a note of concern in his voice that made Valla shiver, shading his own eyes to peer at the horses coming down the slope out of the castle, across the shining river, the Paraka banner displayed high on the first horse, streaming in the wind. 

His horse began to shift restlessly again. Valla bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. The Paraka soldiers looked as if they were riding out to war, the sun blazing off their steel armour, while their own soldiers were dressed only in boiled leather. 

"Luc — "

"Quiet," Luc said, in a voice that Valla had never heard before, guttural and firm. "Don't speak." 

Valla snapped his mouth shut, teeth clipping the tip of his tongue. He had never been on a battlefield or even in a skirmish, but Luc had, and for the first time he could see it, the way that his whole body was attuned to the situation, tensed and ready for a fight. Valla put his hand on the sword dragging on his hip, but it was for show, and anyone that looked at him would know it. The wire-wrapped hilt cut into his hand as he squeezed it, seeking reassurance and finding only uncertainty. 

They were right about Paraka horses, because the knights reached them in only a moment in a whirl of hooves and muscle — big horses that were light on their feet, holding the knights and their armour up effortlessly. 

"Draw your sword," the captain of the knights said, his helm decorated with a foreign plumage, pointing between Valla and the rest of his retinue. "And throw it away." Valla didn't move, trapped like a rabbit venturing from its burrow into the jaws of a fox. 

"Valla," Luc said, his voice too steady, too even-keeled. "Do as he says. All of you." Luc led, the dark dusksteel blade coming free from his belt and thumping into the churned mud beneath their feet. Mother had given Luc that sword, on his last nameday, Valla remembered. The sheath still gleamed, opalescent, even as it sank down into the dirt. He unbuckled his own and let it fall, feeling both lighter and naked in its absence. 

"The princes come with us now," the captain said. "You've done your duty, knights of Paraka. Return home or die."

Luc bristled. "There's no need to — " 

"Silence," the captain said. "Return to where you came from or die, men of Paraka."

"Do as they say," Luc said, head still held high. "We are here of our own volition — "

"I said be quiet," the knight said, spitting down into the mud. Luc's horse lurched forward, responding to his tense body, and the knights drew their swords, a bristling forest of steel. Valla couldn't breathe, his chest so tight he thought it might burst. The smell of blood entered his nose; he realised he had bitten through his lip. 

"Go," Luc whispered, and, for the first time, Valla noticed the tremble in his hands. 

Their knights were well-trained, even in defeat. One by one, they turned their horses and began to leave, the brilliant light of the sunset turning cold on Valla's skin as their protective wall departed. 

"Dismount," the captain said, and Luc did as he said, slinging one long leg back over his horse and sliding to the ground. Valla followed, misstepping on his landing and staggering into Luc, who steadied him without looking back. Two of the knights dismounted as well and came forth, roughly grabbing at Valla and binding his hands together, tightly enough that the leather thong bit into his skin. 

"What's happening?" Valla said, but the knight did not respond, threading the cord through his bound hands and attaching him first to Luc, then the saddle of the captain. 

"I don't know," Luc said, quietly enough that Valla hoped only he could hear. "Be ready to run." He looked wary, but not scared, his voice steady enough that it shored up Valla somewhat. Luc would know what to do. 

His warning was all Valla got before the captain turned his horse and nudged it into a trot, pulling Valla forward. He just managed to get his feet under him, though he could not draw a full breath. Luc, with his long legs and years of training, was keeping a fluid pace, but Valla struggled, half running, half dragged by the tether around his wrists, his lungs burning. They passed over the moat and within the castle walls, the darkness drawing around them like a shroud. 

"This is a disgrace," Luc said, and his voice was so calm that Valla knew he was furious beyond reproach. "I demand to speak to Kh — the king."

The captain slid down from his horse and approached them. Valla shrank back, but Luc stood firm, looking up at the captain with a spine of steel. 

The captain drew back his hand and backhanded Luc, the crack of it echoing against the stone walls. Luc went down, reeling back, and Valla rushed forward until Luc held up a hand to signal him back. He spat on the ground, and when he looked up, Valla saw his eyes were bright with shocked tears. There were cuts on his cheek from the knight's gauntlet, which he raised a hand to cover. 

Nothing about this was right. Valla had never seen Luc back down from anything, much less seen him _cry_. It felt so wrong to see him humbled, kneeling on the ground. Valla felt it like a knife sliding into his side, a cold cut across his heart.

"You'll speak to his highness when _his highness_ deigns," the captain said, pulling off his helm and staring down at Luc. "Not when whelps cry for it." 

Valla saw emotions pass over Luc's face, but could not identify them. They could be desire to fight, assessment of the situation, acceptance. Eventually, he bowed his head and said nothing, though the tendons in his neck were standing out and his muscles were tight. What did that mean? Of all things, capitulation was not what Valla expected from Luc. It wasn't like he expected Luc to take on so many armed knights with his bare hands, but — a few days ago it would have seemed possible. Valla worried at the cuffs of his shirt, caught between wanting to act and knowing he could not. 

"Take them to the cells," the captain said, and turned without another word. They were untied, the ties leaving bright marks on Valla's wrists, and forced down a series of narrow steps, until Valla could no longer see any sunlight, the air thick with the smell of damp and pitch. Oppressive torches blazed on the walls, illuminating old stones bound together with moss, until they were delivered to a wide cell with nothing more than a mattress, bench, and impossibly high window. 

Valla lingered as close to Luc as he could manage without tripping him up, but was punished with a hard shove to the back that catapulted them both into the room. Luc staggered and went down onto the hard stone floor, cursing. He wasn't there for more than a second before he jumped up, pushing Valla out of the way and pressing up against the metal bars. 

"I demand to see the king," Luc said, a hot spike of anger thrust through his words. "I demand to see the king!"

"The captain doesn't like repeating himself," the closest knight said. "And neither do I." 

"This is outrageous — unlawful."

"Ask your father what's _unlawful_ ," the knight said, and spat on the ground. With that, they turned and left, abandoning Luc and Valla to the depths. 

A little sunlight filtered in from the high window, but not enough to chase the gloom and shadows from the corners of the cell. There was sweat trickling down Luc's neck and seeping into the shoulder of his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice, jaw clenched in anger. 

Valla pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and went to Luc, dabbing at his tense neck. Luc flinched away, then breathed deep. 

"I don't understand what's happening," Valla said, and his voice sounded loud and scared against the stone walls. "Isn't Paraka our ally?"

"I don't know either," Luc said, and Valla could tell that he was trying to steady his voice, stepping away from Valla and his still-outstretched hands. "The knights will get word to Father — this will all be resolved soon." 

It felt fake, but Valla restrained himself from saying so. Luc was staring out into the gloom beyond their cell, his knuckles white from the pressure of his clenched hands. Valla had never seen Luc _angry_ before. Upset, annoyed, yes, but never angry. He had thought it would be a cold anger, but it was burning so hot that Valla thought he could feel it even from this distance, contained entirely in Luc's skin. 

Luc was always so even in disputes and arguments, and put up with all of the brotherly nonsense that Mason and Pascal wreaked around the castle, Valla caught up in its wake, but he was always still and calm when sorting out their havoc, or resolving arguments between them. The calm had always made him seem distant to Valla, especially when probing for some kind of reaction. Seeing it shed completely and seeing Luc _scattered_ was new, and made Valla feel on edge but also like minded with Luc for the first time he could remember. 

"This is ridiculous," Luc said, the words echoing fruitlessly out into the darkness. "This is a joke. How dare they treat us like this." 

"The king will come," Valla said. 

"I hope he does," Luc said, and then released his hands from the bars, rattling the door. Valla stepped back as Luc began to pace back and forth across the length of the cell. Valla wasn’t sure what to do — what to say. He pushed his hair back from his face and tried to draw breaths, but they were tainted by the smell of dark water and what he imagined was old blood. 

"What do you know of the king?" Valla said. "Is he — do they execute — "

"No," Luc said. "No, don't think of that." He stopped pacing and took a step towards Valla, stopping in the single, weak shaft of sunlight from the high window. "It's going to be fine, Valla."

Valla tried to smile, but it only drew his lips tight. He sat down on the bench and tried to stay still, resting his hands on his knees. "Aren't we allies?"

"The old king — King Bertos — died recently," Luc said, slowly, as though he was a schoolmaster speaking to a child. It made Valla narrow his eyes, although Luc didn't notice. "The new king is younger — my age."

"I know _that_ ," Valla said. "I meant more what you think. What did he mean by 'unlawful'?" 

"I don't know," Luc said. "Father didn't say anything to me when we met." 

"You met with Father?" Valla said. "What did he say?" 

"He said to look after you," Luc said, without a hint of embarrassment, though Valla's cheeks grew warm and red. 

"I can look after myself," Valla said, hand falling to a sword that was not there. His fingers lingered on his empty belt. He'd never been in a battle, it was true, but he carried out his duties just like his brothers. He was the youngest, and was alternately paid too much attention to and none at all, but he wasn't a baby. 

"I know," Luc said. "I know that." But his words rang hollow, now that his anger was seeping away from his body — the weariness of being on the road, perhaps, catching up with him. 

Valla drew his legs up onto the bench and leaned back against the wall, pushing his thumbnail into his mouth and worrying at the edge. Luc sat down on the thin mattress and rested his head on his knees, all the tension and exhaustion mingling in his body, obviously enough that Valla could see. 

"But why would he do this?" Valla said. His words prompted no response, except for Luc to raise his head and shrug. "Our conflicts are on the northern border," Valla said, and after a moment it felt like he was just saying things to prove he had knowledge of the world. "Not here." 

"I don't _know_ , Valla," Luc said, the bite in his words feeling like a slap. "I'll speak to the king. Perhaps it's just a misunderstanding."

Luc was trying to make it sound like less than it was. Valla hid his scowl, running his tongue over his bruised lower lip. 

"I've met him before," Luc said, after some time had passed and the little window had gone completely dark. "A long time ago, when we were both just princes." 

"What was he like?"

"Fine," Luc said. "We shot targets for a bit — that's all. He wanted to know what horses were like in Arquin. He asked after you — well, not you. My brothers."

Valla frowned, but said nothing. 

"His older brother was the crown prince then," Luc continued. "I don't know what happened to him — assassinated, they say, but not by who."

"I haven't heard about that," Valla said. 

"Few have," Luc replied, and then sighed, heavily enough that Valla imagined he could feel it in the shift of air. "I'm sorry, Valla."

"It's fine," Valla said. He could just see the shadow of the growing bruise on Luc's cheek, where it was swelling from the impact of the captain's gauntlet. It needed ice, or the chill of river water, but Luc was ignoring it, despite the fact that it must be throbbing with heat. Valla knew he wouldn't have been able to endure such a hit. "We can come up with a plan."

"A plan?"

"You know, hit the guard over the head when he comes to give us meals — that sort of thing."

"This isn't one of your adventure stories, Valla," Luc said, mildly enough that it made Valla blush, the unspoken words of _I thought you weren't a child, Valla_ falling between them. But Luc seemed to realise what he had said, and turned towards Valla properly. "I mean — that plan might not work, but there are others we can try."

"Like what?"

"What I'll say to the king — draw on our history, try and figure out what he thinks father has done. Things like that."

Valla nodded, glad to be in the loop. "What could he think father has done?" he said. "Mason and Pascal say this is the most peaceful the kingdoms have ever been — towards each other, I mean."

"What they know about history and relations can probably fill a teacup," Luc said, and Valla couldn't help laughing, just a little. It was true, after all. Of all of them, he was glad it was Luc who had volunteered to accompany him, even if he hadn't quite understood why. 

Luc was smiling, just a little, now. 

"When they take us to see him, I'll stay quiet," Valla said, looking up to see if Luc would approve.

"It's not — I didn't mean it like that," Luc said, looking a little abashed. "Well — perhaps you'll learn something from your year away after all. This just happens to be the first lesson — resolving disputes."

Valla smiled a little. That was fair, and Pascal and Mason definitely hadn't spent a night in an enemy dungeon. That would be something to boast about when they arrived home. 

Valla felt the day's journey catch up with him all at once, a bone-deep weariness that he had hoped to sleep away in some huge, soft bed overlooking the valley where the wild horses ran. 

"We should get some sleep," Valla said. He stretched out, his back cracking. It alleviated some of the tiredness. He was filled with a renewed sense of hope, thanks to Luc. The mattress at his feet was old, straw poking through its roughshod cover, but one night on it wouldn't be too bad. 

But when he lay down and looked up, Luc was lost in thought again, his jaw clenched. "Aren't you tired?" Valla wriggled over and patted at the mattress next to him, trying to keep his demeanour airy. Something was bothering Luc more than he was letting on.

"No," Luc said, too quickly. "You sleep." He stood and retreated to the far corner of the room, his eyes oddly fixed on the empty space next to Valla, where his hand rested awkwardly. So it was still to be like this, then. The camaraderie had only lasted a few moments. He turned over, pretending nothing was bothering him, even though it was the sound of Luc's pacing steps that lulled him to sleep.

It was before dawn when Valla woke, his heavy eyelids difficult to lift. 

"Go back to sleep," Luc said, and for a moment Valla wasn't sure where he was. Luc never slept near Valla, not on a hunting trip, not when they travelled far up into the mountains, not even if the brothers stayed in one of their rooms talking after a feast — which Luc never did, retreating early, silently. Sometimes Valla didn't even notice Luc was gone until Valla looked for him. A sour taste rose at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. He drifted back down into a fitful sleep, listening to Luc pace back and forth. 

The sound of armour and footsteps roused him, going from asleep to fully awake in less than a second, which left him dizzy and reeling. Luc pulled him to his feet and pushed Valla behind him, the muscles in his arm tense and hard. 

It was the captain and the knights, their armour resplendent in the light from the braziers. Each of them had their sword, and Valla's eyes flicked between them nervously. Nothing would stop them coming into the cell and killing both him and Luc. Not even Luc, though Valla knew he would try. 

"Stay silent," Luc muttered, and Valla bristled at the command. Even though they had discussed it, it still rankled to be pushed aside and silenced.

"The king will see you," the captain said. 

"Now?" Luc said.

"Tonight," the captain said.

"And did all six of your men need to be here to say that?" Luc said. 

"Yes, they did," the captain said. Valla could feel that rage building in Luc again, though he was still and silent, not responding to the captain. "Perhaps you'll be more talkative with the king," the captain said. "Or not. I don't really care."

He turned and left without another word. Luc began to pace back and forth again, steps hard enough that Valla thought he might grind a path into the stone. 

"There's no need for this — power play," Luc snapped, mostly to himself. Valla sat down on the bench again, leaning his head back against the hard stone. His worries had condensed into a ball that sat heavy and solid in his stomach. He counted the stones from the top of the ceiling to the bottom of the floor, trying to breathe evenly as they had been taught when learning the sword. "They have more power than us, more land, a larger army. I'm well aware of their _superiority_."

Luc spat the word and Valla flinched at the harshness of it. If Luc had a sword, he would be rattling it against the bars, Valla was sure, and challenging anyone who came to check on the racket. He had never seen Luc so angry before, so out of control. 

"They all have swords," Valla said. "If we can get one — "

"Between the six of them, I don't think that's a fair fight," Luc said.

"What if they come back with fewer?"

"Maybe," Luc said. "But we'd still have to fight our way out of the castle with one sword." But he was considering it.

Valla had never been a genius with the sword, but if he had to fight his way out next to Luc, he would try his best.

"I can fight too," he said. But the words sounded weak to his ears, and it took only a glance from Luc to dispel his idea. The crook of Luc's sceptical eyebrow wounded Valla, along with the cursory look up and down his frame, assessing him as a warrior and dismissing him all at once. What had happened? Last night talking to Luc had been effortless.

"It's probably just a misunderstanding, just as you said," Valla said. "The king — "

"If he wants to negotiate, man to man, do it _now_ ," Luc said to himself. "Don't make me wait until evening."

Valla didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, twining his fingers against themselves and resting his head against his knees. Pascal would have known exactly what to say to defuse Luc's anger, or Mason might have just tackled him to get him to cool his head, but Valla could do neither. He was useless. Luc's frenetic energy built and built until it was ricocheting through his body too.

Breakfast came, and then lunch, two bowls of watery gruel that they both ate in a grim silence, recognising that there was no alternative. Valla's hope it might all be some kind of joke or initiation faded quickly; deep down he had already known this was too foolish to voice. 

Finally, finally, evening came. Valla usually never found himself getting bored; there was too much to do at home, no matter the season or time of day. But here, fear had quickly faded into boredom. Luc wasn't one for conversation most of the time, and especially not this new, hot-eyed Luc. His anger faded away and came back too many times for Valla to count. Luc would be still for a while, but then he clenched his fists hard and strode back and forth along the line of the bars, his whole body rigid with fury. He looked exhausted by the time the knights returned; no one was made to carry that much tension. The bruise on his cheek was dark and looked painful, his cheek slightly swollen.

"You will be honoured by an audience with the king," the captain said, the jingling of keys in the lock loud and harsh against the stone walls. Valla stood, brushing down his tunic. Luc rose, too, approaching the cell door a little too fast; one of the knights put his hand on his sword. Luc was strong, but he was too smart to try and take on the knights unarmed and unarmoured. 

"Not the whelp," the captain said. "Just the crown prince."

"You can't expect me to leave him here," Luc said. 

"He looks old enough to take care of himself," the captain said, looking past Luc and meeting Valla's eyes. He looked back, despite the thrill of fear it sent through him, unwilling to drop his eyes. 

"This is dishonourable," Luc snapped.

"You can leave him now," the captain said, "and I'll post one of my men at the door. Or we can drag you out, and I'll put one of my men inside." Valla gasped and tried to hide his reaction, taking a step further behind Luc. He flushed as he did so, knowing he was confirming what they thought of him — what Luc thought of him — but it was the only safety he had.

The fire in Luc was instantly extinguished. His shoulders dropped, defeated. Luc turned back to Valla for one moment, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. He faltered, his hand hanging awkwardly in the air. 

"Go on," Valla said, although bitterness was still raw in his throat. "I'll be fine."

Luc allowed them to escort him out of the cell without a word or a look behind. Valla watched his back disappear into the gloom, one of the torches hissing and spitting against the night. Then he was alone, truly alone, despite the shadow of the guard he could see at the end of the hall. 

What if Luc never came back? It would take their men a week to return home, then a week to send any kind of help, if they even could. Arquin was nothing against the forces of Paraka.

He understood why Luc paced, now, in a way he hadn't before. Nervous energy burned beneath his skin, jittering his legs and then moving up, like ants were crawling under his muscles. He stretched as best he could, moving through the exercises that his trainer had assigned him, what seemed like a hundred years ago. When they were done, he fell to pacing, back and forth and back and forth across what seemed like a large cell, but was really four tiny walls that seemed to get closer with each length he paced. 

Had it been hours? He couldn't tell, but the night outside was truly _night_ now, dark enough that he could see one solitary star at the top of the window, if he stood right underneath it and craned his neck back. It was impossible to tell what was taking so long. They could be negotiating, fighting — the king could have killed Luc the second he stepped into that room. 

Luc's rage had been incandescent in the morning, and Valla saw how foolish their plans had been. He hoped Luc hadn't tried to wrestle a sword away from one of the guards. There was no chance of ever coming out alive. Luc could be dying — could be _dead_ by now, his blood staining the stone floors of the king's opulent room. 

And then they would come for him next, and if Luc was gone, no one could save him. The tide of war would start in that room and wash all the way across their country, leaving nothing in its wake.

Valla bit down on the ragged edge of his thumbnail, tasting his own blood. He practiced the long, slow breaths that they learned in archery. He had promised Luc he would be fine. A prince was meant to keep his promises.

But it was no use. They would come back and kill him. He was sure. Gods, he wished he had anyone with him. Pascal and Mason were half useless most of the time, but Mason was a terrific swordsman and Pascal could always talk his way out of anything. But wishing for them to be here was akin to wishing death on their heads too. 

Valla closed his eyes. How _had_ this happened? He couldn't think of one thing the king could even suspect them of.

No matter how he strained his ears, he could hear nothing except imagined sounds, the scrape of metal on stone — a distant scream? But no, it was just the sound of the quiet settling, the brief brush of wind against the window. He felt tight and strained on the inside, his stomach cramped with more than just hunger. 

Then a true sound came from the end of the corridor, the door opening. Luc was marched inside with no ceremony, his eyes tipped down as the cell door was unlocked and the knight thrust him in again. He stumbled forward and almost fell, catching himself on the wall. Something was wrong. His neck was bowed, shoulders slumped. He wouldn't meet Valla's eyes.

"What happened?" Valla said. Was that a shadow or a new bruise on Luc's face? "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Luc said, too quickly, his hands clenched together. "It's fine."

"I don't believe you," Valla said. "Please, Luc, you can tell me anything." 

He stood and moved towards Luc, intending to drag his clenched hands apart, tip his head up to meet Valla's eyes. But the first brush of his fingers on the back of Luc's knuckles made Luc flinch away, violently, staggering backwards with wide, scared eyes. Valla gasped, stepping away. 

"What did he do?" Valla demanded, looking up and down Luc. There were no injuries that he could see; he could not smell fresh blood, only the faint, sour scent of fear. If Luc was scared just from words, Valla should be terrified. "What _did_ he say to you?"

"It's nothing, Valla," Luc said. "I said it's nothing."

"I'm not a baby," Valla snapped. "I know something went wrong. Did you fight?"

"If you're not a baby, why can't you _listen_?" Luc said, and then closed his mouth slowly, deliberately, as if he had not expected those words to come out. "I just — "

"Don't," Valla said, turning his back to hide the way his cheeks were pink and his eyes stinging with tears. He'd thought — he'd thought that at least Luc was beginning to think of him as an equal. Apparently that had been wrong. "I'm going to sleep." 

He peeked from the corner of his eye, watching to see if Luc’s movements were stiff or pained as he sighed and made his way to the mattress too. But they seemed normal. Valla lay down first, turning his back to Luc as he had the previous night.

He felt the straw mattress dip as Luc lay down too, felt his heavy sigh on the back of Valla's neck, stirring the hairs there. Luc hadn't even lain down next to him the previous night, and now this? It made him bristle for a reason he couldn't quite explain, like needles pricking at his skin. Now that they were fighting Luc wanted to be near him? But he couldn't reject it; he felt safer just by the proximity. 

Luc was turned towards him; Valla felt him shift, and then one long, warm arm was slung over him, over his ribs. 

Valla went still. Luc couldn't be asleep, definitely not enough so that he would act in a dream. Perhaps it was an apology that Luc couldn't voice — but Luc was never this easily physical with him, sparking a warm line of weight across his ribs, Luc's hand resting lax on the mattress next to Valla's heart. He could just feel the warmth of Luc’s body at the edge of his senses, where his weight threatened to tip Valla back into his embrace. A sudden awareness descended over Valla, his heart kicking at the front of his chest so hard he wondered if Luc could feel it. 

There was something anchoring about the contact. It was partly how it felt like an apology, but partly how Luc never touched him, not a reassuring pat on the back, not to arm-wrestle, not even a hug. The comforting weight of it was only half of it — it felt like the heat of Luc's body was transferring to him, light filling him up. Something about it felt on the edge of painful, but in a good way. He couldn't describe it.

He couldn't fall asleep. It was ridiculous to be this keyed up just from the weight of Luc's arm on him, the shift of his breathing moving it back and forth. He matched his breathing to Luc's, long, slow breaths that were deep enough to make Valla choke on air. He was weary and too awake at the same time, a day spent within the grey stone walls not enough to burn away his energy. 

Valla could not stop his mind from racing. He thought Luc would have shouted, raged at the king, but that didn't account for how he had acted on his return. He worried at his lip, each tug pulling at the wound there, until he slipped into an exhausted sleep.

*

He woke, cold and alone — no, not alone. Luc was sitting on the bench, his body hunched in exhausted misery. Valla had not noticed if he had woken during the night, but from the dark smudges under his eyes, it was easy to guess he had. The fire of anger that had burned within him was gone. Not banked but gone, leaving behind only the barest hint of smoke. 

"Good morning," Valla said, but his cheerfulness fell flat, shattering at his feet like a plate. Luc looked up, briefly. His eyes were distant enough that Valla wasn't sure if the warmth and comfort of his embrace had only been a dream. "Can you — "

"Don't ask," Luc said. So it seemed the camaraderie Valla had thought they were building with plans and escapes was gone — if it had ever been real.

"What," Valla snapped, before he even knew what he was saying, "you'd rather talk to the king than me?" It was probably true. Luc had met the king before; had he been greeted as an old friend? Plied with food and wine and made to swap stories — secrets about their kingdoms? No, never. Luc would never reveal anything. 

"That's not what I meant," Luc said wearily. "That's not what I said."

Valla narrowed his eyes. Luc had been so furious last night at the thought of a misunderstanding, and now he wouldn't even defend his own honour? Valla was tired, angry and couldn't stop himself from pushing. "You're meant to be protecting me. How can you do that if I'm so in the dark?"

"I _am_ protecting you," Luc said, but there was no vigour, no iron in his tone. 

"From _what_?"

"I don't — nothing. We both — "

"Don't lie to my face," Valla said. "You spoke to the king for hours, didn't you? Or was it just pleasantries, then? Did he ask how mother is? Did he ask after _me_?"

Blood drained from Luc's face; Valla had never seen him so pale and off-kilter before. Valla reached out — he wasn't sure to what ends — but Luc flinched back, eyes flicking down to Valla's hands and withdrawing as quickly as possible. Valla folded his hands back against his body and frowned. He was cold and alone, separated from Luc by more than just the few metres between them.

"You've always preferred everyone else's company to mine. I suppose this isn't any different."

"That's not true," Luc said, voice thready. "I — "

"Pascal, Mason — "

"That's not true!"

" — father, mother, the stablehands. Why did I think a _foreign king_ would be any different!"

"That's not fucking true," Luc said, and it was that low, calm voice that made Valla shiver, the tension quivering between them. "Don't speak about things you don't understand." 

"Then I suppose I can't speak of anything," Valla said, turning his back on Luc like it afforded him any privacy. He eyed Luc out of the corner of his vision. He looked like a man defeated, but there was still that strength to his body that he carried without effort, the width of his muscles eclipsing Valla's small frame. Even if Valla tried to wrestle with him like Mason, he would just end up pinned. 

His fists were clenched; it took a moment to rescue his fingers from his palms, dark half-moons cut into his flesh. He was so tired; sleep hadn't relieved him at all. A wave of regret washed over him, but he fought back against it. Everything he'd said had been true, regardless of what Luc thought. 

Bitter tears welled at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them back. This would never happen at home. Gods, he wanted to be home so badly, where anything could be fixed by a ride into the orchards or calling out to his brothers to swim in the lake, race the stairs of the highest tower, or gather their bows and horses for hunting. If he and Luc didn't talk, they wouldn't argue there, either. 

The door opening interrupted his thoughts. The jailer was returning with two trays that he slid into the cell, one with a bowl of the same weak gruel, and the other with fragrant chicken and rice and a mug of steaming tea. Valla paused, eyes flicking between them.

"That's for you, little whelp," the jailer said, pointing at the cold gruel. "That's for the crown prince." 

"Take mine, Valla," Luc said, without opening his eyes.

"No sharing," the jailer snapped. "The king wants to thank you for the little talk last night." 

Luc's eyes opened slowly, and he flushed. The jailer stood there, unmoving. Valla frowned and picked up his tray, his stomach rumbling audibly as the scent of the chicken reached his nose. The first taste of the gruel, wet and gluey, made him gag. Luc stood and took his own tray, staring down at it dismally. 

"Just eat it," Valla said. "If one of us needs their strength, it's you."

Luc flicked his eyes to Valla with a glare that made him briefly feel hot, though he could not identify why. He struggled to think of anything that Luc could have done to be thanked. He would never give up secrets of their kingdom, never. Valla felt grimy to have even implied it. Not money, or trade of any kind. He had gone in there with nothing but his — Valla narrowed his eyes. Luc wouldn't have — 

"Did you — "

"Shut up, Valla," Luc said, very mildly, and bent his head to spoon rice into his mouth with a hand that only slightly trembled. Valla rolled his eyes and forced himself to eat until the bowl was empty. He wasn't sure what that mild refusal had meant. He barely even knew what he was implying, but it hadn't hit a nerve with Luc. Perhaps it was a gambit — perhaps Luc was simply waiting until they were alone.

He did need his strength, but for what he wasn't sure. He supposed it was less than feasible to get out of a locked cell with no sword and make it through a castle of heavily armed men. The jailer watched them both finish eating with a cold, uncaring eye, until Valla slid the two empty trays back under the bars. 

"Are you happy?" he said.

"This is a bold one," the jailer said, meeting Luc's eyes over Valla's head. Luc said nothing, so the jailer shrugged and disappeared into the dark again.

"Come here," Luc said, and Valla obeyed without thinking, only half-remembering that he was still angry. There was chicken up Luc's sleeve, lukewarm but still delicious when Valla took it with his mouth, unthinking, his lips brushing against Luc's calloused palm. "Use your hand, for the sake of the gods," Luc said, jerking back like he had been burned. 

"I'm hungry," Valla said, plaintively enough that Luc just sighed, wiping his hand on his trousers. "Why did the king send you that?"

"I don't know," Luc said. Valla sat on the bench next to him and Luc edged away. Valla frowned — did he smell? Probably. "To sow discord between us, I imagine."

"I suppose he doesn't know we can do that well enough on our own," Valla said, wry. Luc half-smiled, before it faded, staring out into the middle distance. 

Valla huffed out a breath, imagining what he'd been told to be so shaken. Perhaps there were already half a million troops on their way to annex Arquin and there was nothing they could do. No, Luc would have told him that, surely. 

He inched closer and leant against Luc's arm, resting his head for just a moment. Luc allowed it, though Valla could feel he was vibrating with tension. After a moment, he lifted his head again, and Luc sighed with what sounded like shoddily concealed relief. 

It was all so transparent. That was what was making him grind his teeth together. Why hadn't Luc just made something up that Valla would believe? So he wasn't worth even the flimsiest story? He wanted to kick and scream, the whole of his body feeling like a muscle that needed to stretch out, but there was no room. He couldn't imagine being in here for one more day, one more hour. 

Eventually he dozed off out of sheer boredom. It wasn't a true sleep, but a grey haze that he was roused from by every noise from inside and out, every movement of Luc's, the tweet of some faraway bird. It was more exhausting than sleep. 

Voices were coming from far away — he frowned and opened his eyes. The light at the window was the red-gold of sunset. The knights were coming down the corridor again, two by two. Luc stood, positioning himself between them and Valla, and Valla was simultaneously frustrated and shielded by the gesture. 

"Come on, 'crown prince'," one of the knights said. "The king will see you now."

"Again?" Valla said, standing. "What about me?"

"What about you?" the knight said. "The king doesn't want to see you."

"I — I want to see the king," Valla said.

"If the king doesn't want to see you," the knight said slowly, "that means you don't get to see the king."

"I don't care if he wants to see me or not," Valla said. Luc laid a hand on his shoulder and Valla jumped; his hand was big, warm and solid, reminding him of the disparity between them.

"I'll be fine," Luc said. "I'll be back soon." He removed his hand as quickly as he had set it down, but the warmth and weight of it seemed to linger, anchoring Valla to the ground. 

Valla pressed himself up against the bars and rattled them as best he could, the sound ineffectual and damp. This time Luc did twist and look around, his mouth turned down and miserable. Then he turned his back on Valla without a word.

"Fuck," Valla said, and the word felt to the ground and shattered. He punched at the bars and was rewarded with nothing more than a dull pain in his hand, which began to throb slowly. He crouched down and peered into the darkness. There was nothing. He felt utterly hopeless; he had nothing except himself and the lingering warmth of Luc's touch. 

What must it be like, to be received by the king in his opulent chambers? He built the palace in his mind, imagining silks, warm beds, baths, food — that was hardly opulent. It didn't matter how luxurious the palace was, anyway. It didn't seem to be doing Luc any favours.

Valla sighed and sat down on the cold stone. He could not summon the strength to move except to shift his eyes this way and that, counting the stones up and down and around until his vision swam with tears. Useless — Luc was sacrificing himself to protect Valla and Valla could do nothing. He wanted Luc to rely on him as much as he did on Luc, but Luc wouldn't even tell him what was happening. He _must_ prefer to talk to the others, and even to the king. Why else would he say nothing? 

Valla cradled his throbbing hand in his lap and leaned back against the cell bars, the metal hard and freezing through the thin fabric of his shirt. He could see just a slice of the bottom of the moon through the high window, and was bathed in its weak, milky light. 

There was nothing to do but walk back and forth from one end of the cell to the other. It seemed to grow smaller and smaller each time that he did. All his muscles felt cramped and constrained, no matter how much he stretched; his back wouldn't crack no matter how much he twisted it. Closing his eyes did nothing. Sleep did not come. He would have welcomed it if it had, both for its darkness and the way it had of knitting together time. 

It felt like a hundred hours had passed when he was disturbed by the soft sound of the door opening and dragging footsteps. He blinked, and Luc was there, his back to Valla. His breathing was shaky and _hurt_ , which made Valla turn immediately, struggling to his feet. 

"What did he do?"

"Nothing," Luc said. His voice was raw and exhausted. The word sprang out of him like he had been holding it in his mouth all the way down the corridor, waiting for Valla to ask. 

"You can tell me," Valla said. Luc would not turn to face him, so he stepped around into his line of view, trying to meet Luc’s eyes. There were no more marks on his face but his lips were red and raw from — what? It could be anything. "What is he like?"

"A king, Valla," Luc said. "He's a king."

"This is ridiculous," Valla said. "I want to help you." 

"You can't help me."

"That's not true," Valla said. "You wouldn't say that to Pascal, to Mason — to anyone else."

"If it was anyone else I wouldn't be here," Luc said, and then narrowed his eyes as if he had said that by mistake. 

"What does that mean," Valla said, flat. "Anyone else could take care of themselves? _I_ can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can." 

"Then tell me what the king said! Are they marching on home? Have they already burnt it to the ground? Are they going to kill us both, and take our corpses home?"

Luc looked genuinely astonished for a brief moment, and sat down on the bench. The movement looked like it was from weak knees rather than a desire to sit. Valla didn't know how a man as strong as Luc — as big as Luc — could be driven to such weakness, without a single blow having landed on his body. Nothing made sense. 

"You have a wild imagination," Luc said, after a long moment. 

"Maybe because I'm not being told anything," Valla snapped. He reached out for Luc, who snatched his hands away from Valla. Hot tears sprang to Valla’s eyes. He wiped them on his wrist. 

"What happened to your hand?" Luc said, eyes flicking down to where Valla's knuckles were red and purple. 

" _Nothing_ ," Valla said, turning away. He lay down on the bed and pretended to go to sleep, fighting each tear that dripped hot down his cheek and onto the fabric below. Luc was quiet for a while before Valla heard his footsteps on the ground, heavy, and felt the mattress dip away from him. 

He thought Luc would lie back to back, denying Valla the small comfort of his touch, but after a moment's hesitation, Luc slung his arm over Valla again, and then inched closer until Valla's back was flush with Luc's chest, the warm, broad expanse of him. He was shifted a little with each of Luc's breaths; he could feel the pressure of breath on the back of his neck and the heavy, workhorse thump of Luc's heart. 

Valla was pretending to sleep, but he could not control the heat that sprang up in his body, his limbs going loose and relaxed, warmth threading through all of his muscles, from the bottom of his feet to the tingling top of his head. His mouth slackened and his tongue felt hot and large inside — he felt safe and protected and like he should escape, all at the same time, his heart beating so rapidly he thought it might explode. There was no reason — he couldn't understand his reaction. 

He'd never felt like this when Pascal or Mason flopped over his legs or fell asleep next to him, but when Luc did — but Luc never had. It felt like being encircled by the paw of a giant beast that might rend him if he moved the wrong way — no, rend was wrong. He didn't know how to name what it felt like. What he thought Luc might do. 

It was nothing. Luc was tired, and moving towards the warmth of Valla's body. That was all it was. He had been alone all day and the day before, trapped in the cold cell, and it was just relief. 

His mind drifted back to the anguished expression on Luc's face that he had seen, just briefly, when he had returned. Valla was caught between the comforting, steady movement of Luc's chest against his back and the jittering of his own heart. How could Luc sleep? How could anyone sleep, at a time like this? Only — unless it was because it was preferable to being awake, to having to think about whatever it was the king had told him. 

Valla tugged at the edge of his thumbnail with his teeth. He was out of ideas. Sleep did come, then, thick and unwanted, clouding his mind.

*

Again, Valla woke alone, thrusting a limp arm over the empty space of the mattress behind him. He could not help blinking back hot, bitter tears, careful to keep his head tucked down to avoid meeting Luc's gaze. He rolled over and opened them to an empty cell. So, truly alone then. 

He stood. No sound had woken him; Luc had not even roused him to make sure Valla knew where he was. Mired in misery, he slumped back down on the mattress, limbs lax and head bowed. Was this what Luc considered protecting him? Keeping him so hidden from what was happening that he felt like he was going mad, a trail of fire making its way up the back of the neck? 

The cell seemed even smaller than yesterday. It had shrunk in the night. His belly growled with emptiness and he sighed, rolling onto his front. His limbs felt heavy and the air thick, his breaths coming too shallow to be real. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sky at home, his hawk drawing lazy circles amid the blue and clouds, but the image disappeared when he blinked and saw only grey stone. 

Memories of home only hurt him, like the point of a dagger jabbing at the back of his neck. It hadn't been long enough for the riders to reach home, had it? But he wasn't sure of that. Perhaps it had been twice as many days as he thought, the sun and moon slipping after one another in a chase he had missed. Maybe there was a war happening on the castle road right now, guards and knights from home slaughtered in a useless rescue attempt.

He stood, shaky, and reached up to the bars on the window, kicking his feet against the wall, trying to find purchase with his slippery-soled riding boots. He got two or three steps up before sliding back down in an undignified rush, fingers grasping at nothing. His hand throbbed, the bruises dark purple on his knuckles. He cradled it and tried not to cry. He was stronger than that. He had to be. 

The door opened and he barely turned his head, his anger growing under his tongue until he saw it was just the jailer, sliding a tray under the bars with another bowl of lukewarm gruel. Valla scowled, resting his head on his bent knees. 

"I don't want it," he said. "Where's my brother?"

"If I knew that, I'd be the king," the jailer said, and Valla smiled, with absolutely no amusement in it. He sprang to his feet and kicked the bowl halfway across the room; it shattered far down the corridor, alongside the wet sound of dripping porridge. 

"I'm going to have to clean that up," the jailer said, head turned away from Valla.

"Let me out and I'll clean it up," Valla said, rattling at the bars of the cage. "Where is my brother? I demand to see the king."

"I don't need dogs yelping in my jail," the man said. 

"Then take me to see the king," Valla said.

"He's busy."

"You took Luc when he asked, when he _demanded_ ," Valla yelled, shaking the bars so hard his arms felt numb. He banged his head on them, accidentally, his head jolting forward and back. He felt the trickle of blood begin somewhere high in his nose. He wanted Luc to come back — wanted the encircling warmth of Luc’s body to make his blood burn, his chest throb with it, Luc's comforting voice in his ear, the rumble of his chest as he spoke. Tears dripped down his face — but the anger was back. Who was this place turning him into? A wild, dangerous _thing_. "I want to see the king! Take me to see the king!"

"Calm down, brat prince," the jailer said. "Your brother will be back soon." That took some of the wind out of Valla's sails, leaving him hanging off the bars with limp arms. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and spat out into the jail. 

He was alone again, craning his neck to see a slice of the blue sky through the window. Valla's anger drained out of him, leaving nothing behind but weariness. It wasn't sleep, but his mind faded, head nodding on his neck. No thoughts rose to the surface of his mind for a long time, his vision grey and clouded. His head rang, gently, like his mother sliding her wet finger on the rim of a crystal glass.

The sound of the door again. He didn't bother to raise his head or move. It was probably just the jailer again — but he could hear two or three sets of feet, then the cell opening. 

"Valla?"

It was Luc, crouching down, his presence warm and large. Valla turned and buried his face in Luc's shoulder, ignoring the grating pain from his nose. Luc hugged him, pulling him close against his body so their hearts were aligned, beating as one. Valla's tears soaked Luc's shoulder until he was pressed into a damp patch. He smelled like clean soap and something else, something Valla couldn't name. 

"It's alright," Luc said, and his voice was different, slow like he was tired. He wobbled a little bit as Valla leaned into him, his feet shifting on the stone. "It'll be alright," he said again, his hand moving across Valla's back in a soothing but strange, jerky motion. Valla wiggled closer, his whole body pressed against Luc's. He blinked his eyes open and tilted his head up, fixing his eyes on the jut of Luc's sharp jaw, the unshaven rasp of his cheek. 

Luc’s eyes were unfocused and glassy, blinking slow. His big, hot hand had settled on Valla's hip, thumb dragging on his waist. Valla wanted to gasp with the pressure of it, but he swallowed it, his throat clicking. 

"Valla, Valla," Luc said, tilting his head to press a kiss to the crown of Valla's head. It sent shivers down his back, like cold water dripping down his shirt. "I'm sorry. They — " he paused, for what seemed like too long — "they came and took me while I was asleep — you were asleep. While we were asleep."

Valla frowned. Luc was rocking back and forth just to keep his balance. Valla's head tipped back. Luc was flushed, a jagged, deep red blush across the apples of both his cheeks. 

"Are you drunk?" he said. That was the unfamiliar smell, Paraka wine, a deep and rich smell that clung to Luc's clothes and breath. "Have you been drinking?" He tried to recoil, but Luc's warm arms had him trapped. 

"I — ah," Luc's brow furrowed in thought. He was quite drunk, Valla thought. He had never seen Luc drunk before. "I might be." He had something soft clutched in one of his hands that was half-wrapped around Valla's shoulder. Valla craned his neck around — a blanket. What was Luc trading for these things? With that thought, it didn't warm Valla to have it covering his shoulders. 

"What — why did you drink? With who?"

Luc's chin came down heavy on Valla's shoulder, his mouth moving against Valla's ear, his lips brushing its curve. "Could you say no to a king, Valla?" His breath was wine-scented and he was leaning forward into Valla now, who struggled to brace himself. "Are you that much stronger than me?"

"I don't know," Valla said, fighting off the twin swords of irritation and concern. He toppled backwards, landing on the mattress, Luc's heavy weight pinning him there. He couldn't breathe, Luc's knee digging into his calf, his elbow halfway into Valla's side. His face was buried in the crook of Valla's neck, his lips forming words against his skin that Valla could not understand. His skin raced with strange heat, his heart pounding. Luc's hand was on his hip again, Valla's tunic askew and his fingers creeping under the hem. Who did he think Valla was?

"Get off," Valla wheezed, thumping Luc in the back. Luc rolled aside, pressing Valla deeper into the mattress before he was free again, Valla's hair rumpled and his face bright red, panting for breath. For a moment, he had been able to forget where they were and why they were here; they could be in the stables at home, trying to fumble with saddles and bridles for a midnight ride that they both knew they were too drunk to embark on. 

But Luc only ignored Valla at home, and there was nothing surrounding them except dull stone. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face. The blanket was half over his legs, drawing warmth into his thighs and hips where he wasn't sure he wanted it. But any physical reaction was just a product of the closeness, the confinement. He bit his lip. 

Luc raised his head, eyes bleary. "I'm tired," he said.

"It's almost night," Valla said. "Were you drinking all day?"

Luc dropped his head down onto the pillow of his arms again. He reached out and grabbed at Valla's leg. Valla had no time except to yelp, surprised, as Luc pulled him down into the circle of his arms, sighing onto the back of his neck, rubbing his nose against the bump of Valla’s spine. Valla wanted to pull away and turn his head at the same time, baring the rest of his neck to Luc, to do — what?

"I miss you," Luc said, mumbling into Valla's skin. 

" _I'm_ here," Valla said, his breath coming out in a low rush as Luc squeezed him closer. "You're the one who keeps leaving."

"I'm sorry," Luc said. "I'm sorry, Valla." He mumbled it again, the syllables losing their definition. He kept moving his nose, then his cheek against the back of Valla's neck, the slight scratch of his unshaven cheek making Valla gasp into the back of his hand. 

"For what?" Valla said. "For leaving?"

"For everything," Luc said, but it was muffled into Valla's hair, making him shiver. "I'm here," Luc said. 

His hand slid down over Valla's hip. Valla could not move. Could not breathe. His hand was so big, like he could pin Valla down with just the weight of it alone. If he moved it down further — just a little further — the tips of his fingers would brush against the top of Valla's cock. He felt a little sick to think of it — of his _brother_ — wrenching his eyes up to the blank wall of the cell, pulling his mind away.

Valla bit into the back of his hand, his mouth hot and too wet, shaking. But Luc didn't move, and soon his breath was even and soft against Valla's neck, his hand holding Valla back against his body even in sleep.

Valla wriggled, trying to get out of Luc's grip without waking him. But they were pressed together from head to toe, even Luc's calf lying over Valla's leg. He couldn't escape if he wanted to; there was nowhere to escape to, anyway. 

After a while, he began to relax, teetering on the edge of sleep. Everything aside, it was nice to be in such close quarters, close enough he could imagine it was winter in a hunting lodge, snowed in so deep they had to spend a few extra nights, the rumble of Luc's breath as comforting as the distant crackle of a fire, the pop of wood.

Luc moved, restless in his sleep. It roused Valla, fluttering his eyelids open. They felt heavy, his eyes weak and bleary behind them. He must have been asleep for a little while, because the temperature of the air felt different, the stillness of night outside the window. 

Luc moved against him again, rocking forward with his hips. What was he dreaming of? Valla tried to generate some space between their bodies, but Luc's hands were still wrapped around him, one on his hip and the other curled around Valla's chest, holding him close. 

Valla swallowed, very slowly. His body was taking note of the proceedings — it wasn't anything more than the closeness, he told himself, the warmth of Luc's body, the feeling of safety. He licked his lips, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. Luc's hips ground forward, aligning his hard cock with Valla's ass. 

Valla squeaked, biting at the back of his hand, and went as still as he could manage, sure he had misunderstood what he had felt, the burning heat and hard pressure — but Luc sighed against his ear, a soft sigh of pleasure as his cock rubbed against Valla's ass, feeling huge and burning hot even through two layers of clothes.

 _Who_ was he dreaming of? He certainly wasn't awake. Luc never — Luc would never — gods, his thigh slid over Valla's leg, trapping him by three points. Valla was flushed, sweating under his arms and the backs of his knees. He had never — no one had ever touched him like this. All Luc would have to do was roll him slightly and he'd be on his front, face down and ready for whatever — for what? He choked and bit down on his hand. 

Luc was grinding against him in a slow, inescapable rhythm now, each gentle kick of his hips pressing his cock harder into Valla's ass. Valla's own cock was responding, hard where it was trapped in his trousers, feeling wet in a way it never had before. If pressed, he would admit that of course he touched himself sometimes, at night, but it had never felt like _this_ before, not like his spirit was close to becoming detached from his body, the muscles in his thighs tense and his stomach fluttering. He couldn't even seem to close his mouth. He was leaking into his trousers; his tongue felt fat and hot, mouth wet and wanting. 

Valla shuddered in Luc's grip, unable to stop himself. If — he couldn't help but imagining that if they were naked, Luc's cock would be catching on his hole with each thrust, Luc's precome slick against his hole, making it slippery enough that the right angle, the right pressure might make him slide inside — 

Valla doubled over, an aborted jerk stopped by Luc's hands, and came into his trousers, his gasps muffled into the back of his hand, where his teeth had pressed red marks into his knuckles. The pleasure didn't end, rocketing up and down his body in waves, his legs shaking. Luc moaned, low, against his ear, and stopped moving, leaving Valla trembling with aftershocks. 

Had Luc come? Valla couldn't tell. Shouldn't even be wondering. For a moment he thought about Luc's come striping across his hole, across his ass, down his thighs, too much to be contained, and groaned into his own hand, covering his face and closing his eyes hard enough to make stars burst behind them.

Valla felt suddenly sick, bile rising at the back of his throat. He still couldn't move, pinned to the pleasant heat of Luc's body, but he felt boneless and limp now, sweat cooling on the back of his neck. What had he done? Why had he done that? It wasn't right, to be aroused by his older brother. It simply wasn't right. A choked sob caught in his throat, another tear slipping from the corner of his eye. 

This was madness. Proximity-induced madness. He would — Luc would have no memory but of a pleasant dream, if that. Luc wouldn't know — all Valla had to do was act normal, and he would never know. 

Luc's hand was still on Valla's hip, his palm directly skin-to-skin. Valla couldn't move it, and it weighed him down like a stone. 

*

Hours later, unfamiliar hands dragged him up. It was only when his eyes focused on the retreating bars of the cell that he realised he was outside, the sleeping form of Luc still visible on the mattress. He fought, for half a second, before someone seized the back of his neck and shook him none too gently. 

"We're getting you what you asked, whelp," the captain said. He was upside down and sideways as they dragged Valla out of the cells, his heels banging on stairs as he fought to get his feet under him. He could walk, godsdammit, he didn't need to be carried. 

"You're taking me to see the king," Valla said, tongue thick and words slow. 

"You think you're fit to see the king in that state?" the captain said. Valla flushed, slowly, from his cheeks down to his neck, but the captain said nothing further. 

They took him to a small bathroom and threw him inside none too gently. Valla didn't care; there was a steaming tub of water and fresh clothes. He washed, guiltily enjoying the heat of the water, the soft washcloth. It felt undeniably good to wash days of grime and sweat off his skin, which felt pink and new after a few moments, the scent of unfamiliar flowers reaching his nose. He tried to relax into it, but his pulse wouldn't slow. Beneath the luxury, he was still expecting the guards to burst in the door at any second.

The water was dark with grime when he lifted himself out, shivering and goosefleshed with the sudden change of temperature. He hadn't realised how filthy he was, not even considering — not even considering what had transpired in the night. He swallowed, tucking damp hair behind his ears. If he didn't think about it, it hadn't happened. 

It surprised him, how much more _human_ he felt after a bath, with pink scrubbed skin and new clothes, even though they were in Paraka style and not his own. The king could belittle him, threaten him, and he could stand up to it. The brief bravado faded; he was sure Luc could have stood up to those things without a second thought.

The door opened without warning and he followed the captain up a dizzying set of stairs, the corridors becoming more and more impressive, the stone changing to marble inlaid with gold, grand tapestries and portraits lining the walls. Valla's leather slippers hardly made a sound on the floor, in contrast to the heavy tromp of the knights' boots. Soon they ascended once more, and there was a great guarded door that opened into a high-ceilinged atrium, swathed with white silks and delicate curtains that stirred with the merest breath. The ground was dotted with low tables and cushions that built up to a dais upon which — Valla blinked and swallowed, caught his breath. A dais with a throne that the king sat on, alone and looking down at him. 

King Khariton was both different from and the same as Valla's imaginings. He was the same age as Luc, Valla remembered, but he had none of Luc's qualities — not the warmth in his eyes or the straight discipline in his back. He lounged on the throne as if it was a bedchamber couch, his pale eyes looking straight down into Valla's own. His clothes were loose and his jewellery extravagant, but under the silks of his robes, Valla could sense a warrior's strength in his body. 

Valla swallowed, slowly. They said the king was outlandish, even mad, but that the country thrived under his thumb; trade had never been better. 

"Ah, the little brother," the king said, cocking his head. One of his hands was loosely cupped around a thin-stemmed wine glass which held nothing but dregs. "Luc's been keeping you all to himself." 

Valla flushed, but pushed his chin up and straightened his back anyway. Courtly manners were the only thing keeping back his tongue, which seemed to grow sharper with every day. 

"How is your brother?" Khariton said, raising a lazy hand to push his rich brown hair back from his forehead. "I wasn't sure he'd even get back on his own two feet, last night."

"Why did you do that?" Valla said, his voice bursting forward and echoing around the atrium. "Why did you do that to him?"

"I haven't done anything to Luc," Khariton said. Valla saw a flash of steel in his briefly narrowed eyes, and rocked back onto his heels. This was an act, but what it was designed for and what its purpose was, he could not tell. "He asked me for wine, and overindulged — a youthful indiscretion, but allowed." 

Valla frowned. He had expected the king to threaten him, to — attack him in some way, not act as if everything was fine. "I thought our countries were allies, your highness. Why treat us — "

The king laughed, loud and sharp-edged, then put his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You are the bold one of the two, I see."

Valla hesitated, unsure if he had amused or offended Khariton. He could not tell. There was a smile on the king's handsome, sharp-edged face, but there was that same double-edged sword to the laughter, a blade laid to Valla's neck. 

"Come here, little Valla," the king said. The captain emphasised it with a hard shove to Valla's back, and he stumbled up the stairs, their width just confusing enough that he could not get his stride comfortable enough to look confident. The king's throne was ornate gold, pressed with vines and birds that looked real enough to leap off and fly away. He was looking at it to avoid looking at Khariton's eyes, and he knew it. 

The king — he was undeniably attractive, but when the mirth slid off his expression like rain off a stone, Valla found it difficult to look at him. His eyes were a rich green-brown with absolutely no warmth in them, and his hands were adorned with rings that looked heavy enough to drag down Valla's arms. He remembered the shadow he thought he had seen on Luc's face, and swallowed. 

"I thought our countries were allies too, little prince," the king said, softly enough that Valla had to lean closer to hear what he was saying, and could smell the woodsmoke smell of the king's skin. "I have thought that almost the entire time I have been alive." 

"Then Luc — me and Luc — "

"You want me to let you go, don’t you?" 

"Yes, but — "

"You must be thirsty," Khariton said, speaking over Valla as if he had not spoken at all. 

"Y — yes, your highness," Valla said, tongue tripping. He remembered what Luc had said. Could he say no to a king? Not one that held Luc in his hand, he couldn't. "But — "

Khariton filled his glass and held it out to Valla, his arm a straight line that his eyes looked right down. He was watching Valla so intently that he felt like a bug on a card, about to be pinned through. He sipped the wine. Was this what Luc had faced down? But there was no pressure from the king to finish the glass, and the wine _was_ good, light with the taste of summer. 

The king hadn't touched him, but Valla felt the weight of his gaze on him, and had to repress a shiver. It was like Khariton could see right through him, down to his skin and what he had done last night. 

"I'll say to you what I said to Luc," Khariton said, leaning back. Valla swallowed another gulp of wine, more out of a desire to do _something_ than to drink it. "I will release you when your father releases _my_ brother."

"But — " Valla rocked back on his heels, the wine swirling alarmingly in the glass. He didn't know what to say. "But he's dead."

Khariton laughed, his eyes narrowing so much they were almost closed. The laughter didn't reach his eyes, the mirthless smile on his lips twisted and thin. He laughed for what seemed like a long time, until his jaw shut with a clack and he leaned forward once more. "I know that, little prince."

"I don't understand."

"You wouldn't," the king said. "We have more in common than you might think."

 _I'm nothing like you_ , Valla thought, and it definitely showed on his face, because the king smiled once more. 

"You're the baby of your family, no? Coddled and swaddled away from the truth, surrounded by brothers that you idolise, especially the oldest." 

"That's — " _not true_ , Valla wanted to say, but he knew it was, so cut himself off and said nothing, eyes dipping down to the reflection of the sky in the wine, and back up to the king's. It was difficult to hold his gaze for too long. 

"I know it is, because that was my life, too," Khariton continued. "That is, until my brother was killed."

"I don't know anything about that," Valla said. 

"I didn't think you would," the king said, mildly. "But Luc did." 

Valla's belly twisted, the wine turning sour at the back of his throat. "No," he said. 

"I've wondered if he held Ermolai down himself and — " the king made a cutting gesture with his hand, the other clenched into a rictus. "I still can't tell. What do you think?"

"Luc would never — "

"No," Khariton said, voice loud enough to silence Valla completely. Valla was beginning to feel a little strange, as if his body was overly warm, his mind lifting out of his head. He fought through it, focusing on the king's face and words. "Don't say that, say what you _really_ think. Do you think Luc is capable of killing?"

Valla pressed his lips together, hard. He blinked, slowly. The king seemed far away and too close at the same time. He took another gulp of wine, hoping to steady himself. A muscle in his leg was jumping. 

Of course he didn't think that Luc had killed Khariton's brother. It was ridiculous, absurd. But that hadn't been the question. 

He paused, tongue flicking out to catch the last drops of wine on his lips. The question had been something different. For a moment, the room was dancing around him. He had to blink three or four times to get everything back in focus. The king was looking at him with fondness in his eyes, which felt wrong. 

Was Luc capable of killing? 

"Y-yes," Valla said. He swayed backwards, aware of the gulf of stairs behind him. 

"Come here, little prince," Khariton said, beckoning Valla forwards. The glass slipped out of his fingers and shattered on the stairs, the last few droplets of wine looking like blood. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Valla stepped forward, watching his foot move slowly, then fast, afterimages remaining. He blinked, hard, eyelashes fluttering wetly. The king seemed close, suddenly, Valla straining to focus on his face. 

"Regardless," Khariton said, reaching forward to grasp Valla's hands in his. "You and I are one and the same. You look up to Luc and I looked up to Ermolai. Isn't it fair if I find out what I missed?"

"I don't understand," Valla said, his words slurring. "Am I drunk?"

"No," Khariton said. His hands were soft and warm, folding Valla's together. "No, you're not."

Valla swayed forward and Khariton caught him, standing as he did. All his weight was supported by the king. The king was warm and he smelled good, but it was wrong, somehow. It wasn't — "Luc," Valla murmured. His hands felt too heavy; he could not lift them. His legs were unsteady beneath him, dragging on the marble. 

"Not Luc," the king said. He supported Valla, who struggled to get his feet under him, managing to just hold himself up at best, the king's arm around his, pulling him up as they made their way down the stairs and towards the door. The world spun as Valla blinked, tried to focus on where he was. "Not yet."

Something else was happening to him. He could feel his heart beating like a huge drum in his whole body, from his fingertips down to his toes, and heat was beginning to tingle through all his veins. Valla gasped. Every movement was torturous, sending sparks up and down his body, just from the way his shirt pulled tight across his chest as the king shifted his weight.

"Fast-acting," the king muttered, and the words made colours swirl in Valla's vision. They were descending, that much he could tell, but when they arrived at the mouth of the cell corridor, he had no perception of how much time it had taken; it felt like he had just blinked. 

"No," he said, his feet dragging over the threshold. "No, leave him alone."

"I'm not going to touch him," Khariton said, directly into Valla's ear. Valla shivered. The stir of breath passing his ear made him feel hot and shaky in a way he couldn't quantify. The bars from the cell loomed over him, escaping from the gloom and dark, and growing larger and larger. 

"What have you done?" Luc said, appearing from the darkness. "What have you done to him?" That old anger was back. Valla tried to raise his head. He wanted to see Luc. Gods, he wanted that more than anything. But his head was too heavy.

"The question is what will _you_ do to him," Khariton said. His words were confusing, and made Valla's head hurt. 

Luc went pale and stepped back from the bars. "No." 

"You took away the only thing I've ever loved," Khariton said. 

"You're mad," Luc said, voice low and bitter.

"How I wish that was true," Khariton said. The cell door was open now, and Khariton pushed Valla inside, a firm hand on the small of his back. He stumbled inside and Luc caught him, curling a protective arm around Valla that ignited his blood with a fire he could not sate. He gasped wetly, his body twisting as he struggled to keep himself standing. 

"What have you done?"

"He's not dead," Khariton said, sitting down on a seat made of dark wood. "Be grateful for that."

"I've done everything you asked."

"Not everything," Khariton said. 

"I won't do it," Luc said. The rumble of his voice shook Valla through his whole body, and he relaxed as one, Luc dipping to catch his weight. It was fine. It would all be fine if Luc was here. "I won't."

"So you're prepared to suffer the consequences?" Khariton said. "You'd slay your own brother?"

" _No_ ," Luc said. 

"Then it sounds like your mind is already made up," Khariton said, leaning forward so his face was almost at the bars. "Little Valla," he said.

"Don't say his name," Luc said, jostling Valla. Valla moaned, trapping it behind his lips. Something was happening deep in his belly that made him squirm, his cock beginning to thicken in his trousers. Was it the wine, or was it just Luc? He swallowed, imagining if he would always get hard, now, from Luc being near. "I'll kill you."

"I wish you had," Khariton said, wrapping one hand around the bars of the cell. For a moment Valla couldn't tell if he was inside or outside the bars, his vision blurry. "I wish you had killed me, and not him. I wish I lay in the ground while he razed your cities. He had a taste for violence that I do not."

"I didn't kill Ermolai," Luc said. 

"It doesn't matter if you did," Khariton said. Valla could see the gleam of the whites of his eyes in the dark. "You, your father, your kingdom — you are all responsible."

"My father would never — " 

"But he did!" Khariton roared, his voice resounding around the cell and slamming into Valla's head. He winced, wriggled back against the solid wall of Luc. "My brother is dead. Is that not proof enough for you?"

"I — "

"He's in the ground and _you_ are here. You are the reparations from your father." His words were growing more rapid, spilling over each other. "You'll give back to me what was taken — I want to know what it would have been like to — "

"I won't do it."

" — lie with him." 

Valla flushed, his ears turning a burning red. The heat of it throbbed through his whole body. 

There was a long pause where the only sound was Luc's harsh breathing. Khariton watched him over Valla's head, unblinking. They were acting as if nothing was happening to him; as if he wasn't here at all. 

"You are mad," Luc said, finally. "He was your brother." 

It sounded weak even to Valla's ears.

Khariton laughed, a sharp-edged thing like a sword on a whetstone. "I thought you'd be stubborn, bullish," he said. "But I never thought you'd be _hypocritical_." 

"I'm not," Luc said. "I've — I've never — "

"I asked for him, and only him, and you had to force your way in, didn't you?" Khariton said. 

"Someone needs to protect him from you," Luc snarled.

"I would never have done anything to Valla," Khariton said. "This is to punish _you_." 

Luc flinched. His hand was warm, wrapping around Valla's ribs, but his grip was on the edge of too-tight, his fingers pressing hard into Valla's skin. It made it a little difficult to breathe. The constriction felt good, so he tipped his head back and opened his mouth, hoping to catch Luc's eye, hoping just a little of his attention would be directed towards him. Khariton had noticed; Valla could feel the weight of his gaze. 

"Maybe your father didn't ask you along to protect him," Khariton said. "Maybe he was trying to split you up."

"No," Luc said, the word falling from his lips like a stone. 

"Do you think no one _notices_?" Khariton said. "Even I can see your eyes when you look at him. At least I was careful with Ermolai. At least I didn't let other people see."

"He doesn't look at me at all," Valla said, choking on his own words. His tongue felt too heavy and thick, crowding his mouth. "He doesn't even like me." Luc's hand tightened on his ribs. 

"Touch him," Khariton said, eyes flicking up to Luc's. "He thinks you hate him."

"I won't do it," Luc said. 

" _Touch him_ ," Khariton said. 

Luc reached down, cupping Valla's cock with his hand. Valla gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, tight enough that stars burst behind them. He thrust forward into the warm firmness of Luc's hand. He shuddered with sensation that seemed magnified beyond all recognition, pleasure overtaking his whole body. 

"I mean, really," Khariton said. "Was that meant to be subtle? I didn't say 'touch his cock'."

Valla’s head was so heavy on his neck. He didn't know what to do with his hands. Luc was shaking against him. It couldn't be true. Luc would never want — him. 

Luc's hand withdrew, slowly, and he whined at the lack of stimulation, pushing his hips forwards in search of it. He reached out for Luc's hand, but Luc flinched back, separating their bodies entirely. So Luc truly didn't want him. Despair was like a stone in his throat. He was the depraved one, lusting after his brother, and the rejection hurt worse than the sickness and shame. 

Valla tried to steady himself and fell, body weak and too sensitive to hold himself up. Their sudden parting left him cold and overstimulated, reaching down to palm his own cock. 

"Stop that," Khariton said, turning his gaze suddenly down to Valla, who froze under the power of it. "No one touches you except Luc."

Valla dragged his hand away, the spikes of pleasure in his body turning sharp-edged without stimulation, the need grasping at his insides. He wanted to question why he had obeyed Khariton, but the fire in his mind demanded obedience. He wished Luc would touch him more. 

Luc had backed up, his eyes fixed away from Valla. Valla turned on his front and crawled towards Luc, until he bumped into his legs. 

"Why are you so resistant to getting what you want?" Khariton said. 

"Please," Valla said, leaning his head against Luc's leg, open-mouthed. His stomach felt cramped, his muscles jittering. He needed something — he didn't know what. He remembered the feeling of Luc's hard cock against his ass and shuddered. It would feel so good, skin against skin. 

"He wants it," Khariton said. 

"I promised myself I never would," Luc said. "I — I promised."

"I made promises to Ermolai I can't keep," Khariton said. "You will keep them for me."

"I said I would protect him," Luc said, and the agony in his voice pierced Valla's heart. But it couldn't compare to the overwhelming desire. He clutched at Luc's legs. His nipples were tight and sore under the soft fabric of his shirt. 

" _Please_ ," Valla said. "It hurts."

"Are you protecting him now?" Khariton said. "He's in pain."

Valla scrabbled at Luc's legs, his hands closing over the muscle of Luc's calves. His whole body was radiating tension, and Valla could feel it passing into him, drawing down to his belly and hips; he shuddered with it, pressing his wet cheek to Luc's thigh. If he just moved a little further, swaying on his knees, his breath — his _mouth_ — brushed over Luc's groin. Luc gasped and pulled Valla back by the hair, the thousand pinpricks of pain washing over him as pleasurable sensation. 

"Just let me," Valla groaned, reaching for the ties of Luc's trousers. His mouth was wet and he couldn't _think_. His brain was on fire and his cock was so hard that it was painful, and he couldn't even reach down and adjust it without incurring Khariton's wrath. Nothing mattered except being _filled_ , even though he could barely think about what that meant. 

"Would you have ever touched him without my prompting?" Khariton said.

"Never," Luc said, and his voice was thick. 

"Never touched his skin?" Khariton said. "Never rubbed up against him in the night?"

Valla stilled. How did Khariton know? He hadn't said anything. He was sure he hadn't said anything. He could feel Luc's heart beating through the muscle of his thigh. The lingering worry didn't stop him from moving his cheek over the front of Luc's trousers, feeling how hard his cock was, pushing painfully forward. Valla closed his mouth over the head through the cloth, and Luc's hips bucked, knocking him away. 

" _Never_ ," Luc said. Valla glanced up; their eyes met. It was a hot shock. He couldn't look away from Luc's eyes. The words that had been passing between Khariton and Luc were only just now filtering down to Valla. Luc never would have touched him? Not of his own volition? Valla went cold all over.

"Do you really think he thought you were asleep?"

"No," Luc said, and he cupped the back of Valla's head with one huge, warm hand. 

"Of course not." 

Valla shivered with tension. If Luc had been awake — then it was tantamount to Khariton's hands that had been on his body. But then again, if Luc hated him, what did anything matter? He couldn't _think_ beyond physical sensation. 

He felt the moment Luc finally broke, a shudder through his entire body. Luc melted with it, crumpling down onto Valla, pulling their mouths close together. Valla couldn't move, pinned by Luc, landing on the mattress with the full pressure of Luc's weight on top of him. He couldn't breathe, eyes focused on Luc's mouth. He wanted to kick his legs. He wanted to thrust up against Luc, but he couldn't even move that much, forced to just rub against the plane of Luc's stomach. It didn't even take the edge off the hunger gnawing at his belly. 

Luc pushed Valla's hair away from his forehead, hands shaking. Valla could do nothing but stare up into his eyes. They were wet, like Luc might cry, but he closed them and bent down, so slowly that for a moment Valla didn't feel like Luc was moving at all until he could feel the pressure of his breath, see the wetness of his tongue behind his teeth. He couldn't move, straining up against Luc's weight to try and push their mouths together, until he felt that first press of Luc's lips and sobbed into it, opening his mouth to Luc's tongue. 

Luc moaned. His tongue slid into Valla's mouth. It was overwhelming. The sensation of it sliding against his own made his cock throb, wriggling against Luc to try and get some stimulation. Luc kissed like he wanted to choke Valla. Kissed like he wanted to claim every part of Valla for his own. Valla's body demanded more. He whined around Luc's tongue, shaking with desire. 

"Take his clothes off," Khariton said. Luc started, like he had forgotten Khariton was even there, but Valla couldn't. It was perverse, but the weight of the king's eyes on him made his blood beat even faster, his cock swelling impossibly more. It _hurt_. Everything hurt. 

Luc pulled himself up, the rush of cool air and relief of pressure making Valla shiver. Luc touched a finger to the first button of Valla's shirt, gently slipping it free. Valla's lips parted. He was beyond anticipation, beyond guilt or shame. His body burned with emptiness; the muscles of his legs felt like they were being pricked with pins. 

"Is that how you think Ermolai would have done it?" Khariton said. 

Luc snapped his head up, and Valla felt the moment Luc's eyes met Khariton's. Luc's hand was tight on the shirt, and he tore it from Valla's body in one wrenching movement, thin fabric shredding and buttons pinging around the room. 

"He was a brute," Luc spat. 

"He was," Khariton said. He was leaning forward with interest, eyes glittering in the dark. "He would never have treated me so gently." 

"I'm not like him," Luc said. One of his hands was on Valla's ribs and unmoving. Valla's mind was burning. "I wouldn't do that." 

"You would," Khariton said. Valla could barely listen. His eyes were drawn down to the obvious hardness in Luc's trousers. He needed it in his mouth. In his ass. Anywhere. Luc could just come on him — on his stomach, his face, in his mouth. It didn't matter. None of this _talk_ mattered. 

"Shut up," Valla said, thrashing out, kicking at Luc with his legs. Luc started, looked down at him with disbelief. 

"Valla — " 

"Don't talk like I'm not here," Valla said. His arms were free. He touched his own neck, feeling the hot beat of blood there. Touching his skin made the buzzing beneath it abate, but fractionally. 

Luc fell on him with an unexpected savagery that made Valla melt, his body yearning. Luc turned him over, roughly, until Valla could look up into Khariton's eyes.

Khariton's attention was fixed on Valla now, and although he looked bored, Valla could see it was manufactured, from the way his eyes were focused and one of his hands was on his own thigh, too high up to be casual. A thrill of arousal shot through Valla's body and he muffled the moan in his hands. 

It wasn't _right_. Somehow, behind the burn of his mind, he knew none of this was right.

It was his brother's hands that were scrambling underneath him to reach the ties of his trousers, drawing them down his legs. Even the brief brush of Luc's hands against his thighs was sensual. His underclothes were wet and strained, Luc's soft gasp as he discovered the ruin of them making Valla blush. 

Khariton was still watching him. His lips were softly parted, and his breaths were long and slow. 

"Valla," Luc said. "How long have you been like this?" His fingers traced over Valla's cock, the callouses dragging over the sensitive head. 

Valla gasped and came, without warning. His whole body locked up, muscles seizing with pleasure that felt so deep in his body it _hurt_ , not a relief of pressure, but pressure on a deep ache. His come shot in spurts onto Luc's hand, up his wrist. He felt Luc's shocked inhale, saw a flash of Khariton's amused face before burying his own in his hands, feeling a hot, shocked tear travel down his cheek.

But his cock didn't falter, remaining hard and wanting. Luc's hand lingered, thumb slipping over the head once more, and Valla sobbed. 

"How did that feel?" Khariton said. 

"It — " Luc began.

"Not you," Khariton snapped. Valla tried to raise his head, but his neck felt weak and he could only look up. 

"G — good," he said, words slurred and strange. "More. Please, more."

Luc's other hand was on his ass, the heavy weight of it making Valla thrust his hips down against the blanket. He was burning up, sweat building on his forehead and the crook of his elbows. 

"That's not enough," Khariton said. "Be more descriptive." 

"His hand was so big," Valla said, dreamily. "It — I wanted it to hurt." That wasn't right — he had wanted it to _stop_ hurting, but the ache that had taken over his body was so delicious that he never wanted it to end, hitching his hips forward in a rock that soothed and teased himself at the same time. 

"Where should he touch you next?" Khariton said.

"My — " he stuttered. He couldn't bring himself to say it, blinking up at Khariton. He swam in Valla's vision, moving back and forwards. Was he inside the bars or out? Was he close or far? Valla wondered if he would stroke his cheek, dip his fingers into Valla's mouth, press down to the back of his throat — no, that wasn't right. It was only Luc. 

"If you say nothing, nothing will happen," Khariton said. 

"My ass," Valla said, muffled against his fingers and palms.

"I didn't hear that."

"Let him touch my ass," Valla said. " _Please_."

All Khariton did was arch an eyebrow and look up to Luc, and Valla immediately felt the pressure of fingertips at his entrance, wet with his own come. He cried out. Just the brush of one of Luc's fingertips felt huge, rubbing over Valla's hole. Gods, it was like he had forgotten — it was like he had forgotten that one of Luc's biceps was as thick as Valla's thigh. 

He twisted back and forth, trying to look behind him. Had Luc touched himself? Had he freed himself from his trousers? Valla had _felt_ how big his cock was through them, but he wanted to see. Wanted to see if it was as big as it felt. Wanted to fit his mouth over the head, wanted Luc to press it down into his throat until he choked on it. 

"Does it hurt?" Luc said.

"Ermolai wouldn't ask that," Khariton said, low. 

Luc pushed Valla's knee up until his legs were folded under him, leaving him exposed. He couldn't breathe; the air in the cell felt thin. Desperation was mounting. Luc's fingers were gentle, teasing, rubbing at the rim of his hole. 

"What does it look like?" Khariton asked. 

Luc's fingers stuttered. Valla sighed. Luc would never fuck him. He'd just be trapped on this precipice of pleasure forever, always teetering on its edge. Worried about hurting him — didn't Luc know that his hesitation was hurting Valla more than anything? 

"Small," Luc said. "I have to — I should be careful."

"Do you want to be careful?" Khariton said, and Valla saw him lick his lips, run his teeth across his bottom lip. "Do you want him to be careful, Valla?"

" _No_ ," Valla said. His cock was heavy between his legs, his balls drawn up and aching. He needed Luc _inside_ him, needed something to soothe that ache. Luc's fingers stalled and then he began to push one inside, Valla's body opening for him like it was predestined. The stretch of just one of his fingers was unbearable and delicious at the same time; he had no idea how Luc's cock would feel, if just this felt so overwhelming. 

"More," Valla said, pushing his ass back against Luc's hand. Deeper, harder — he wanted everything Luc could give him, and more. 

A second finger teased at his entrance and he groaned at the stretch. It felt like way too much already. Luc pushed it in and began to gently thrust them, his fingertips curling inside Valla. Valla felt like he had been punched, his breath wheezing out of him. It felt incredible — the barest hint of fullness that had him gasping for more. 

"It feels so tight — so hot inside," Luc said, sounding astonished. He was moving his fingers so shallowly that it was just making Valla desperate, pushing back. 

"I didn't ask," Khariton said, sounding amused. Luc separated his fingers and Valla gasped, imagining his cock pushing in alongside them, imagining being finally filled. The voice disturbing the air was his, a too-long string of _please, please_. "Don't you think he's waited long enough?"

"He's not ready," Luc said. A third finger teased Valla's hole. He tried to beg for it, but his words didn't come out right, sideways and wet. Luc was hurrying, despite the mangled words — finally he was understanding what Valla needed. Valla's hole felt soft and stretched, Luc's third finger sliding in without resistance. 

"Do it," Khariton said. Valla could see he was touching himself, just with his palm over his trousers, the movement slow. "Do it now."

"I don't — I can't — "

"Do as I say," Khariton said. "Lift him up. Rest him against you." 

Luc's fingers withdrew from Valla too fast, and he keened, the gripping emptiness returning. Then Luc was lifting him like he weighed nothing, and he was resting back against the great bulk of Luc, skin to skin. Valla sobbed with relief. His legs were restless, moving involuntarily. 

Luc kissed the side of his neck, the curve of his ear, the brush of his lips making Valla shudder. Luc lifted Valla higher, his head lolling back against Luc's neck, and his fingers brushed at his hole again, making Valla cry out.

"Slowly," Khariton said, leaning forward. Valla felt exposed, though Khariton's eyes barely lingered on his body. Every time Khariton's eyes passed over his nipples, his legs, it made him burn with desire and shame. He knew he should cover his body, his cock, but the desire in his body didn't allow it. He turned his head against Luc's neck and mouthed at it, licking at his skin. It tasted good, like salt and like Luc. 

"I can't concentrate when you're doing that," Luc whispered, his voice shaking. He was lining up his cock with Valla's hole, the blunt head catching on the rim. Valla choked on his own spit as the pressure grew, his body sliding in Luc's grip. 

Oh, gods, he had never felt anything like this before. The stretch, the intrusion — Luc was _claiming_ him, changing him. He slid down another inch, gasping at the sensation. More, more. There was no way he could live without this again. Luc could bend him over whenever he felt the need, and Valla would always be ready and willing. 

"To think you could have been doing this the whole time," Khariton said. "You ought to thank me."

"I ought to kill you," Luc said, as Valla shook and moaned and slid further down, Luc's arms relaxing slowly, allowing Valla as much time to adjust as possible. That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Luc to grip him and _fuck_ him roughly, leave bruises of desire on his ribs and hips. 

Luc was breathing roughly, his hands tight on Valla's hips until Valla was seated completely on his cock, the back of his thighs on Luc's, encircled by the warmth of his body. Luc's cock was hitting something inside Valla that drove sparks through his entire body, pushing come out of his cock with each movement. His nipples were hard and red; Luc brushed his hand over them, gently pinched at them until Valla moaned and bit him, closing his teeth on the side of Luc's neck. 

"What does it feel like?" Khariton said, untucking his shirt and pushing his hand into his trousers. "Tell me, Luc, quickly."

Valla saw Luc bare his teeth, face thunderous. He could feel what Luc was thinking, that this should be for _them_ and them alone, secret, private. "I can't describe it," he said, and his voice was cracked with pleasure, slurred with it. "It's like every little movement I make — he reacts so much. I think I might break him if I'm not careful."

"What does it feel like to be fucked by your brother?" Khariton asked, gaze shifting down to Valla. His hand was moving sensually, but with an edge of desperation to it. "How does he feel inside you?"

"Big," Valla croaked. He was filled completely. Luc's hips jerked, his cock pushing deep inside Valla, and Valla gasped and came, completely untouched. He arched his back, pushing hard against Luc and shuddered against him, Luc reaching down to touch his painful, oversensitive cock. 

"I can't, it's too much," Valla said. Luc gently rubbed his fingers over the head of Valla's cock until Valla cried out and knocked his hand away. The pressure of Luc's cock inside him was pushing yet more come from Valla's cock. His thighs were wet with it. 

"Fuck him," Khariton said, his voice slow with pleasure. "You've made him wait long enough."

Luc moved, his eyes dazed and half-shuttered with arousal, just enough to jostle Valla, the drag of Luc’s cock sending sparks up through his body. Valla was coming back to his senses very slowly, just enough that he was feeling more centred in his body, more grounded. Each movement that Luc made he could truly feel now, the slick movement of flesh on flesh. He pushed himself up as much as he could manage and slid back down onto Luc's cock. Luc dug his fingers into Valla's hips and began to lift him, over and over again, the relentless drive of his cock making Valla mindless. It reminded him just how much bigger Luc was than him, the way he could lift him as if Valla weighed nothing. 

"Forgive me," Luc breathed, directly into Valla's ear. It was cut off by his own moan, Luc's gasp for breath. Valla could move only to nip at Luc's neck, to lick at his jaw in supplication, in forgiveness — and then Valla was coming without coming, just an endless rush of pleasure commanding his body until it lost all other sensation. He squeezed down on Luc's cock, tried to twist his hips. He wanted to bring Luc as much pleasure as he was gaining for himself, making his body just a thing for Luc's pleasure. He reached up to try and bring their mouths together, Luc's lips glancing off his. It strained his neck but he needed the contact, and Luc's lips closed over his own.

Luc gasped and shuddered beneath him, one of his hands gripping Valla's hip as he began to come. Valla could feel the heat of it, feel Luc pushing up inside him, the gasps of his pleasure against Valla's neck. 

Valla looked up; Khariton was coming too, his head thrown back as he shuddered through it, teeth deep in his bottom lip. It didn't take much for Valla to be able to imagine what Khariton was thinking of. Khariton was beautiful as he came, and Valla hated him for it, wrenching his eyes away.

He felt satisfied, satiated, at having drawn Luc's pleasure forth, at having pleased him. He relaxed, finally, feeling Luc's energy drain from him, leaving nothing but his exhausted gasps and his grip on Valla turning soft, his thumb rubbing over the bone of his hip. He knew that they had to be separated, but lingering just a moment being joined to Luc, with their bodies pressed together, couldn't hurt. 

It truly only lasted a moment; Luc was moving to pull out, as slowly as possible, but Valla still whined with discomfort. He was sore and tired. Luc pulled the blanket up and over him, before moving in front of him, blocking him from Khariton's view.

"Is that enough for you?" he said. 

"I'll order a bath for both of you," Khariton said, and his tone was as if nothing had happened; as if he hadn't made them — do what they'd done. Luc reached back and clutched at Valla's hand. Valla squeezed back, weakly, as if to say _I'm here_. "And then they'll take you to your room."

"What room?" Luc said. "You said you'd let us go if I — "

"I said I'd let you out of the cell," Khariton said, and he was smiling. "Did you think that was all I wanted to do with Ermolai?"

"You're a bastard," Luc said, voice punched out. 

"Perhaps," Khariton said. "But you were given to me for a year, and a year is what I'll have."

"I'll kill you within a week," Luc said, squeezing Valla's hand to the point of pain. 

"Don't worry," Khariton said, standing. His voice was filled with barely-restrained laughter. "You'll never be apart."

Then he was leaving, disappearing into the dark. Valla wiggled his hand in Luc's grip, but Luc didn't let go, turning to Valla with horror on his face and eyes, like he was falling and only Valla could catch him. 

"I — " Luc began, choking off the word.

"It's fine," Valla said, pressing Luc's hand to his face, kissing his palm and trying to soothe away the tremble in his fingers. "If it's you and me, it's fine." He held Luc's hand for a long time, until the guards came to take them away. 


End file.
